Oddity
by DarknessDrought
Summary: With a homerotic author living downstairs, what could possibly go wrong?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock, only just my OC Sam :3**

Chapter One

Sometimes when in the library - in my usual spot, in the corner crouching on the comfy chair with a big book where normally I would be deep enthralled with it, that my gaze would sometimes wander to the man that occasionally came inside. A man with curly black hair, and icy blue eyes and usually in a long coat, suit, and blue scarf - normally down one of the aisles throwing some books everywhere until he found the right one to my amusement. He was quite strange, and I didn't see him that often in here. From past encounters he didn't stay here for long, and when I asked the quite scared librarian about him she just muttered something about him being a psychopath and to stay away from him.

Of course, I was always the one to attract strange things.

I don't look up from my book as he sits across from me on one of the other comfy chairs. My glasses slipping down the bridge of my nose, but not caring to push them up, as I feel suddenly nauseous in the presence of this man, as I feel his gaze on me. I slowly, and hesitantly looking up meeting a pair of icy blue eyes, and a wry smile, as I just stare for a moment, before raising an eyebrow at the man.

"Why would a girl go to such lengths just to pretend to be a boy?" He asks, as I just sigh. People always come to this conclusion that I am in fact a guy, because of my androgynous looks, my plain attire, and the fact my hair is quite short, but not too short thank god. This is because of the fact I got gum stuck in my hair a couple of weeks back, and instead of going to the trouble of getting it out, I just skipped all that hassle and just cut most of it off. It's also the fact that I hardly have any cleavage at all that people just assume I'm a guy, and these glasses don't help either. I guess the librarian must have said I was a guy, and he cleverly worked out I wasn't. He seems pretty smart, and cocky about it too as he sits in the armchair in front of me. As I bring my knees closer to me, and I put the book on the table between us.

"I don't go to any lengths." I mutter. "People just assume I'm a guy, and that's about it. I don't really care though, about people recognizing me as a boy or a girl. In my opinion it's more important for a person to be recognized for who you are, rather than what you are such as being a guy or a girl."

With that he just blinks at me a couple of times, before raising a thick eyebrow, with the smile slightly faltering.

"Really?"

"Really." I state, as instantly I feel kind of bad for some strange reason as he bangs his head on the table. "Eh? What-"  
"I thought it be a more interesting reason. Gawd... I'm so damn bored!"

As he shouts a bit, the librarian comes round the corner to shush us, but suddenly hurries away when she sees the man and I sigh, my eyes coming back to the strange man, who has now straightened up, rather than leaving his head pressed against the table.

"Why are you even sitting here?" I ask the strange man, as he just flashes that smile again.

"Because I'm bored, and I think you'd be more entertaining but your quite...boring."  
I'm starting to find this guy less interesting and more rude, obnoxious and annoying by the second. My eyebrow starts twitches slightly, as he just smugly sits there.

"Is that so?" I scowl.

"Well... The high amount of times you come to this library states you have not much to do. Your clothes state that you can't be bothered with such simplicities, and that is the same with issue with your hair. By the way you hunch yourself crouched is probably because you spend many hours in front of a computer, suggesting you may be a writer, that could also suggest you deal with problems at home. I can see you don't have much money, easily told by the way you are dressed, stating you can't move out, even if you want to, as your books don't make much money, as I can tell by the awful genre of book you are reading now."

Wow... I think my mind just exploded.

Did he just guess... No. That was no guessing game. He just deducted that all in a second.  
"Simply stating boring."  
With that – my eyebrow twitches more, as I glare at the smug man. What is he still doing here if he finds me dull and boring? I don't want him here if he just starts insulting me, even if he is just bluntly saying his mind, which I always thought was good to do, but I guess I wish some people would be considerate at times.

"Hmmm?... And what kind of problems do I have at home that you can deduct?" I ask, as I lean back in my seat, as he just becomes more smug.

"Your pink phone..." He says, as my eyes switch towards my phone, raising an eyebrow at to what he is stating. "It's quite obvious that it's not originally yours. It being not quite the type you would buy – this phone being probably passed down to you by a close relative as you couldn't be bothered to buy a phone yourself. It having various small scratches around the power connection, when plugging it in her hands were shaking – which clearly states her being an alcoholic since you'd never see those marks around a sober persons phone, thus deducing the problems at home are your alcoholic mother, and stating that is the reason you desperately want to move out."  
With that he leans back, smug. As I just blink at the man, before placing my feet on the floor, rather than crouching, and replacing my blank state to a smug one myself, as I smile, and his smile falters slightly.

"One thing wrong." I state, as he just blinks at me. "The phone wasn't from my Mother, my Mother passed away quite a few years ago."  
He stays blank for a second, not saying anything for a moment.

"Eh? A sister..."  
"I have no siblings. I got that phone passed down from my Father."  
"Your Father?"  
"Yes." I mumble, suddenly feeling awkward about having to mention this, as I shuffle my feet, and look to the floor, raising my eyes for a second to meet his icy blue ones. His eyebrows furrowed. "He's a transvestite."

* * *

**R&R and I'll continue :))**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the next chapter, sorry for such a long update... I've just been doing stuff... (*cough* otherwise known as nothing... well, doing somethings I guess *cough*), and thank you for the reviews :3 To 'Hiding from her friends' and 'Nightwonderer'... There might be a slight smidgeon of influence... But not that much ;)**

**Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock, that is owned by the BBC. I do however own my OC Sam though :D**

Chapter Two

Next thing I knew after admitting an awkward comment about my Father, which was quite a touchy subject to be honest. The man instantly started muttering to himself. Worried slightly, I got up to my feet and hesitantly go to the side of the armchair as he carries on muttering, and hanging his head slightly.

"Father! First that Sister mistake, and now this. I'm getting worse. This is what boredom does to me, it bloody rots the brain... I should have expected it. Get a gender confused girl, you get a gender confused father..." He mutters, as I scowl at him, but with a slight tweak of amusement from the last comment.

"Oi!" I snap, as I his head slowly comes up, looking depressed, as I then smile. "I don't even know your name yet, and I like to know the names of the people who insult me. I'm Sam. Samantha Lockwood."

At this I extend a hand to shake, as he looks at it to me, before shaking off that shamed look, as he gets up and shakes my hand.

"Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

Well...

This is certainly odd.

I did not expect to bump into this man again, and I didn't really want to either. I guess it was just the unfortunate events that just had to happen with me being there that led to me meeting the infamous Sherlock Holmes.

First off at the start of today – I ended up working for Stephanie delivering packages for various people. Of course, her real name is Stephen – being a friend of my Fathers and all. Generously offering my a job of delivering said packages to various people from time to time, as my books don't make much money and that definitely does. Most of these people being downright scumbags and don't even say thanks when I give them their stuff, but hey, it gets me money that will hopefully buy me a flat.

First guy I delivered the first package to was alright I guess, second one gave me some language... But I was probably the first one who started the argument first after him not even bothering to say a simple thank you. Third was admittedly a lot worse, but when I got to the fourth and final person I was supposed to deliver a package to...

Things got complicated.

The street was like a ghost town, with it being eerily silent. The small house being quiet too, with all the curtains drawn closed, and quite odd because Stephanie assured me this customer would be in. I knocked on the door, but no one answered, still closed in this creepy silence that made me shiver slightly. I knocked in the door again, before thinking something was wrong. I looked on the large brown envelope of the package for her name, before dropping it and knocking on the door again and shouting for her, if she was alright, but there was no reply. It was quite obvious after a while that something was up, before I actually took action.

I took a few steps back, scanning the house. Before my eyes finally came across an open window. From past experience that I wouldn't really like to mention – I climbed up the drainpipe to it, which was quite easy. What wasn't easy was climbing inside the window. I mean I'm not exactly overweight – I'm just average size, but I wished I was skinny as Sherlock Holmes when I clambered in through that window, landing with a loud thump on the floor, but no one checking to see what had just broken into their house. I was still left in that creepy silence once again, as I slowly went downstairs, and walked into the living room of the house.

Only to stumble across a dead woman's body.

* * *

So this is why I am here now, involved in this mess.

After talking to a couple of police officers (and of course hiding the package), I am face to face with Sherlock Holmes, once again.

Oh dear.

He simply stares at me for a moment, before his eyes turn to the Detective beside me I was talking to earlier. I currently have no idea what Sherlock is doing here. I mean I kind of guessed he was a detective, with those amazing deductions yesterday, but he didn't exactly state as such, as after stating his name, he got a text and went off without saying goodbye. I thought that would be the last of Sherlock I would ever see... but I guess I was wrong, like I am often with my assumptions.

"Miss Lockwood, I think you can be escorted home now..." The Detective Lestrade starts off, after giving Sherlock a very brief summary of the murder investigation, before Sherlock cuts him off in mid-sentence.

"She's with me." He states simply, before my eyes widen slightly at what he is saying, as I didn't exactly plan on going in that living room again, but Lestrade does not object, as I dragged in there, with forensics milling about and Sherlock instantly going to kneel beside the body. Me hesitant, but doing same at the other side of her.

"Why drag me in here?" I mutter, as he still scans the body, kneeling down, and sniffing her hand oddly enough. Him just looking up for a single moment, only to raise an eyebrow at me. "I can't deduce anything, so why..."  
"But watching you try to deduce something about her could be entertaining..." He muses, as I scowl at him, but end up doing as he asks, as I take a proper look at her. Which I wasn't really doing before, just looking at... her being dead. Actually maybe I shouldn't look over to her, I always find that you can describe a person by their choice of books. Which she has an extensive amount of on her shelves in her as long as a long line of DVD's. Her choice of certain books very... odd, but it definitely states something.

"Well?" He asks, as I finally drag my eyes away from the large amount of books, before my eyes turning to Sherlock's again, the memorable, ice, cold blue.

"She's evidently single... or was for that matter, and quite desperate to be honest..." I say, wondering if Sherlock's just going to mock me for saying that. But it's true – I mean _ Men are from Mars? Mamma Mia? He's just not that into you? _I only know desperate, singletons who own those type of books and DVD's... Not to be nasty or anything. I mean they are nice, like this woman seems... _seemed_ to be a nice person. A very nice person who very much enjoyed her chocolate, judging by the size of that chocolate bar there on the coffee table. I think it might just be the size of my head... Maybe bigger...

"Yes, but she hasn't been single for a week in fact," He corrects me, just what I was expecting, but I don't say anything as he continues on. "A new boyfriend, after not having any for years. Relationships have been something she has never been good at, but suddenly a new man comes along. Out of nowhere, with all her same interests as her. Too bad he had to be a murderer..."

"Sherlock." We both turn our heads at the voice of Lestrade, interrupting him. "Where is John?"  
John?

Who's he?

I don't really take account of who he is, but just Sherlock muttering something about this John person too busy 'getting off with Sarah.' Making me smile slightly at this man's weird perspective of the world. I mean it's clear now to see he enjoys this – the murders. To me... I don't really know. Maybe writing about them, which I have never really tried, but maybe I could give a go somewhere in the future... In a very long time. Sherlock gets up to his feet after saying that, and me too, as he starts talking briefly to Lestrade, but I don't really listen. It's her eyes. Maybe I could be classed as Sherlock's perspective of stupid when I say this, but I still thought... People died with their eyes closed.

"Miss Lockwood, could you please exit the crime scene?" I hear someone say – an annoyingly drone voice tone, which Sherlock soon scolds too but I don't really listen to what he says, as I bend down again and gently close her eyes. "She's contaminating the body!"  
I soon get up to my feet again, silent. Turning to see Sherlock again, not saying a word. Those eyes not seeming that cold, but perhaps having a look of respect in them maybe? I don't know. I just exit without a word to him.

* * *

Reviews are muchly appreciated, and I'll give you a cookie if you do! (Please note that cookies are made out of your imagination :3)


	3. Chapter 3

**And here is the third Chapter, enjoy!  
**

**Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock,sadly enough. That is owned by the BBC. I do own however my OC Sam and the plot line though :DD**

Chapter Three

I swear - I could hardly get a thing right today.

For one thing – I made the kettle explode. Which I've done before, but not in a time of dear need. I've had this insomnia problem for quite a while now, from always staying up late to write the amount of words in day so I can get it published on time. So I often stay up till past midnight, and when I try to go to sleep it takes me ages to do so. So I get hardly any sleep, thus why I need my coffee.

And thus why I have been in a bit of a breakdown now. I keep drifting off when I try to write something down on my computer, when I _really _need to finish this story. It doesn't help that I have writers block either, and in times like these – I go mad when I can't get a thing right. Me now not even bothering to get rid of it, as I am now playing on my spiny chair in front of my computer.

Real mature, huh?

Sometimes I kind of forget I'm in my twenties, but in times like these, boredom can drive you to do really random things. Such as playing the 'happy face, sad face' game for example. Basically just spinning around in your chair, and pulling the different face each time you turn around.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Holy crap!" I squeal, as I intend to jump off, but end up making my chair fall downwards and me crashing along with it. Wincing for a moment, before snapping to reality, as I look up to the amused face of a man I did not really want to see again. Maybe I have a few questions for him that intended to ask yesterday, but oh so forgot, and kind of banishing them out of my mind in this situation. Being totally embarrassed and all. My face currently burning a deep, dark crimson, as I try to avoid the ice blue eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

"Need a hand?" He offers, as I dismiss that request as I hastily get to my feet. My face now really tinged with the red tint of anger, rather than embarrassment.

"I would never picture you trying to be Chivalrous, Sherlock." I say rather bitterly, as he merely shrugs.

"Not really, but apparently I should be more helpful..."

"According to?..."

"John, colleague slash friend of mine..."

"Well, tell him it won't really work," I say, as he frowns at me. Just staring each other for a moment, as my face forms into a scowl. "What are you doing in my house?"

At my question, Sherlock just blinks at me, as if it's highly obvious to why he is here.

"You know what I do, don't you?"

"You're a detective?..."  
"Consulting detective," He states, smugly as he smirks down at me, whilst I just stare at him. "I invented the job. I'm the only one in the world."

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Whilst he at the same time – turns his smirk into a scowl.

"Yes," He states, "Aren't you?"  
"No."

We just stare at each other for a moment, not really saying anything. Currently placed in an awkward silence, as he turns his gaze to my desk.

And to my messy manuscript of my book.

With me about to object, and him clearly seeing my mortification as he picks it up by the edge. Like it's deceased, soon opening it and having a peek inside – only to frown.

"And this is?"

"Romance," I say, snatching it away from him.

"More like homoero-"  
"Ah," I snap at him, slamming it down. "I don't want you here anyway."  
"What?"

I soon drag him by the collar to the door. Trying not to wake my Father up on the way there, as when he wakes up; I am pretty sure he is the devil incarnate. Either that, or he's got a massive hangover. Sherlock persisting to stay, while I; not so much.

I push him out while saying a harsh goodbye, and slamming the door in his face.

Only for the letterbox to soon open.

"I need your help."  
My help?

Why would he need my help?

Oh...

Bait.

"No." I snap. Clearly tempted to just walk away, when Sherlock says something to stop me. Him obviously a bit hesitant to say this.

"I'll help you find a flat to move out."  
I pause, opening the door, for him to stand up straight. Staring at me with icy blue eyes, locked with mine.

"I'll also say to the police what was in the package you were delivering."  
I scowl at this. I was going to say yes, and go along with it... But no. He has to go to blackmail.

"Fine," I snap, before shutting the door in his face again, growling and frustrated at myself, and him for that matter.

Damn bastard.

* * *

I sigh, leaning on my hand as my elbow rests on the table. Waiting for the murderer to come as Sherlock predicted him to so. My eyes soon drifting to where Sherlock sits at the other side of the bar.

"Nothing?" I whisper into the hidden microphone on me, while I hear a sigh in my earpiece, as Sherlock soon replies.

"Nothing," He states boredly.

There's a moment of silence, where I just look at the couples here when a question comes to mind.

"Why me?"

There's a pause, before he answers in his bored drawl, looking to him to see him smirking at his table.

"You're single, such as what the murderer is looking for, and-" He says, while my eyebrow twitches. Knowing what he is about to say. "-And maybe classed as desperate."  
"Don't push it," I growl under my breath, as he just chuckles. Soon left in silence again,with the faint roar of people talking around us. Sherlock probably calculating what they ate for breakfast, their entire background. While I am kind of absorbed in my thoughts, more of my imagination though rather than straining my brain about what sort of sauce someone had on their chips for tea.

"I'll think I'll go," He suddenly says, as I frown.

"Why?"  
He doesn't reply. I seeing him rushing out, as huff, swirling the red liquid in my glass around, before someone taps my shoulder. Turning my head to see a pair of mossy, green eyes and wearing a bright smile on his features. I raising an eyebrow at the young man who has taken an interest in me, but soon assuming the worst...

* * *

I'm soon wearing a grin on my face, as the man I assume is the murderer lays on the floor unconscious. My Bokken; aka my wooden sword in my hand whilst I stare at my work.

I didn't have ten years of this type of training for nothing...

It's a while before Sherlock turns up after my text. A sort of horrified expression on his face on my face as I just grin.

"Impressed?"  
"I... What!- No," He snaps, as I frown. I bet he wanted to get all the limelight, but it soon comes to my attention it is quite the opposite case, as my face soon becomes blank with horror. "That isn't the murderer!"  
"It... Isn't?"

"No!"  
I just look up to the man, and then to Sherlock, but soon smiling again all the same.

Ah.. Well.

I hope this still means I get my flat...

* * *

xD

I lolled at this.

Anyway if you enjoyed this Chapter (which took me a while to write...) Please review :3


	4. Chapter 4

**This story gets very little update doesn't it… yes, yes it does.**

**I've left both of my other stories off on cliffhangers, and as I normally do… I return to a different story…. When I have a BRILLIANT idea for it. Which I have mentioned briefly before, but not expanded it that much… But it was only kind of mentioned in the last Chapter so... Enjoy x3**

**Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock, sadly enough. That is owned by the BBC. I do own however my OC Sam and the plot line though :3**

**(And thank you all for your reviews, they are muchly appreciated :3)**

Chapter Four

As I have stated before; I am a novelist; A not very well paid… novelist, with most of my customers being teenage girls and middle-aged women, most having much standards for an author who almost has the same writing skills as Stephanie Meyer, according to some _criticizing _people. Well…I'm a novelist of kinds.

The whole point of I moving away from my Father was to get away from dragging him to bed every night, rather than him hanging out in the streets intoxicated and to get away from the sick I have to wipe up, and the long, long rants of his… The main point was to get peace and quiet, which you pretty much need as a novelist… A homoerotic Author to be precise, but any whom…

I am so not getting my peace and quiet in the promised flat I got – 221c Baker Street, the flat just a bit below Sherlock's…

Though oddly now there's a silence, which I know won't last long, taking my time to type as much as I again before the noise starts once again, of Sherlock shooting at the wall in frigging boredom…

'_**His moist groans seeped out of crushed breathe, hands-'**_

_Bang!_

I wince as I hear the gun-shot, but start on writing again, trying to carry on and ignore it.

'_**-curling into m-"**_

_Bang! Bang!_

'_**-y hair and pulling gently onto it in the darkness. In the curtaining shadows his gaze was an unreadable lair of lustre, those long, thin eyebrows twisted in upmost passion an-'**_

I pause, wondering if my writing shall be interrupted this time. There being no sound of a gunshot to be heard of, and I wondering if I shall have my peace and quiet at las-

_Bang!_

…Or not.

I think I just spoke too soon…

"That is _it!_" I hiss, snapping up to my feet and quickly pushing the chair away. Grabbing a book for safe measure, probably to smack the man with, and I slamming the door on my way out. I rushing past Mrs Hudson in a hurry.

"You alright dear?" She asks me, I stopping for a moment to a have a minute conversation with her. Smiling at her pleasantly.

"Ermm… Yeah, I guess, it's just…" I frown at the mention of it, but my eyes averting to the book in my posesion - one of my books, and I certainly do not wish for Mrs Hudson to know of my proffesion. Soon chucking the book back towards my flat, as I just point to the above flat for the explanation of my current irritation. "-the noise."  
"Ah, well it's like that most of the time when there's no cases about," She says. "I've said quite a lot of times to stop putting holes in my wall to Sherlock, but…"

"Ah, don't worry," I say, as I start to climb the stairs towards his flat. "I'll have a word with him."

It doesn't take long for me to bound up the steps towards the flat, but soon hesitating outside of the door, as with the gunfire ceased…

Should I go in?

Maybe, not... Since…

"John!" I hear Sherlock's voice call, I stiffening in my spot as I hear the familiar drawl of his now bored seeming voice. "Get the door!"  
How the _hell _did he-… I guess he heard. I think it may be easy as pie to deduct, but… I wonder if he knows it's me standing outside the door…

Probably.

Mrs Hudson couldn't have run up those stairs that fast anyhow…

My eyes soon flick up from daydreaming whilst looking at the ceiling to looking at the unfamiliar figure in front of me. A man with brown hair, and may I say – courageously wearing a jumper, which most men don't really have the disposition to actually wear one. Not to offend him of course, but just to add… But how on Earth is he-

"You're John?" I ask, tilting my head slightly to one side. The man just looking at my funnily, before looking back to Sherlock with gun in hand whilst lazily lying on the sofa. Obviously bored out of his wits, but soon answering the man's quizzical look.

"Sam here is just currently wondering why on Earth you're my friend…"  
"What?" John asks, as I barge past him without even asking myself in. I knowing this is rude – but I not really caring, as I walk towards the sofa to where Sherlock lays on.

"Correctly deduced," I scowl, as I stop in my tracks to have a look at the poor wall. "Sure Sherlock's brilliant, but… he's lacking social graces."

"I'm brilliant?" Sherlock asks, as my head quickly turns to the man on the sofa. My eyes soon coming down to his gun…

"Don't take it as a compliment," I snap, as I snatch the gun out of his hand. Sherlock just raising an eyebrow at my recent, brash action. "I'm just wondering how on Earth he would get someone as… Adorable as John as his friend…"  
"Excuse me?" I hear John splutter, quite obviously – assuming I'm a guy. A young man to be precise and John seeming quite flabbergasted by my recent comment, though I ignoring his expression whilst I empty the gun.

"There's no bullet's left in there," Sherlock states, I whilst frowning. "I used them all up on the wall."  
"Obviously," I snap back at him. John still rather seemingly slightly embarrassed and now a tad confused…

"Wait," He says, our heads quickly turning towards John. "How do you two know each other?"

"Haven't you seen me from downstairs? I've just moved in…"  
"Er… No," John simply says, as I just meekly nod my head, but soon my eyes coming down to the gun again…

"Just for extra measure," I smile, quickly running to the window before anyone can stop me and throwing the gun out the window. My intent on it falling to the road with a thud, and being crushed by a passing car – Sherlock never being able to shoot holes in the wall again and disturb me from my work, but my aim was never that good. I wincing when I hear a crash and a loud ring of the alarm of the car the gun has crashed into. "Oops."  
"That's my… gun," I hear John almost half whisper, half cry out, before rushing to the space beside me to look out the window and wince at the damage the gun has caused, but us both taking a step backwards from said window. When we both see what I think is the owner of the fancy car – step towards it in pure horror…

"Don't you have a book to attend to?" I hear Sherlock ask, I soon turning on my heel to look towards him.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"Maybe."

"Well… You'll just get even more bored without me here," I grin, as he just rolls his eyes at me whilst he sits up properly. "Though I'll certainly have to get revenge from… Distracting me from my duties."  
"Really?"

"Really."

"How exactly?" John asks, raising an eyebrow, thinking of how I could possibly ever get back at the detective, probably - whilst I thinking over it for a moment. Before my eyes quickly scanning over John and Sherlock, a question soon coming to mind when I see them both together...

"Are you two a couple?" I ask.

"No," They almost snap at the same time, John being a little more quicker than Sherlock but them both now frowning, but an idea soon coming to mind at...

"Don't even think about it," Sherlock says, John still looking slightly confused, as I just grin.

"Not at all..." I say, a little too innocently as I exit the flat of 221b Baker Street, but oh. I am _so _thinking about that...

* * *

xD Reviews are like books. They taste of cake.

(And sorry Twilight fans if I offended you, if there are any... here. Sam here just doesn't like Stephenie Meyer...)


	5. Chapter 5

And here is the next Chapter… ENJOY :3

Disclaimer; I do not own Sherlock... In any shape nor form I am sad to say... But Sam and the Plotline is mine x3

* * *

Knock, knock!

Ugh…

I can so not be bothered to open the door right now.

It's one of those mornings where you just want to curl up in your duvet for most of the day; when you have spent most of your night stupidly staying awake – not doing normal things like normal people at that time though, oh no. I don't do what most people do on most nights; either stuck on whatever social networking they use, or going out with friends, or… having a good shag, which I haven't really had in a while... No, I was writing – all night, but sometimes you find as a writer you get so absorbed in your writing you forget to put your clothes in the laundry, have dinner or even forget about such a simple, little thing as sleep…

…Especially when you get a rather good idea.

Knock, Knock, Kn-

"I'm coming already!" I snap towards the living room, as I soon roll out of bed. Scrambling up to my feet and rushing out of my bedroom; through the living room and to the door. Opening it, to see the expected… Sherlock Holmes of course. Great…

He just raises an eyebrow at me; obviously at my appearance that has gotten even scruffier with I probably looking bedraggled. Yeah… Most likely looking bedridden, as with I going to bed in my normal clothes – with the expectance of shorts, and I looking up now to see my dirty blonde hair in a odd angle as it sticks upwards. I not really bothered that I'm in this state in front of this man, I mean… I don't exactly keep up my appearances for him…. Not that I keep up with my appearance really…

"Are you coming?" He asks, wearing a monotone expression whilst it's my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Where exactly?"

"Where an art heist has taken place..."

"Really?" I say, my eyebrows furrowing. Why has he suddenly gotten a likening to dragging me around cases?... I have absolutely no idea. Maybe sociopaths get… oddly lonely now and again. "What about John?"

"He's out," He simply says, my eyes whilst averting to the to the hall… "He'll be meeting us there."

Oh god, no…

I'm not 'oh godding' because John's coming, I have no problem with John. Sure I've only known him for about two days, but he seems rather nice and quite… adorable, though I don't think he even likes me. I think I made the worst impression on him the other day when I chucked his gun out the window… and yesterday when I stole their milk… and their tea bags.

I'm currently embarrassed at the sight of the other man standing in the hallway. When I said I am hardly bothered with my attire and hair being in such a state in front of Sherlock Holmes, it did not mean that I am like this way with other people as well. I totally bothered that I am currently looking a total state in front of the DI, Lestrade…

"I'll be one minute," I state, violently blushing and quickly stepping out of the way to slam the door in Sherlock's face. Hearing an irritated grunt and an amused chuckle from the other side of the door, before I rush back to my bedroom to get ready quickly…

* * *

"You know what I dreamed of last night?"

"I'm not really that bothered, Samantha…"

"I had a dream I saw my grave last night, and you know what it said underneath my name? Spinster…"

"Again – I do not exactly care about your personal affairs," Sherlock sighs, looking out the taxi's window, whilst I scowl. "I don't know why people make such a fuss about these things anyway… Such as being single, or n-"

"Oh, I'm not single at all," I state, Sherlock instantly turning his head towards me and raising an eyebrow. "I'm currently having an affair with two different people; one's called Ben, the other Jerry…"

"What?" He says, raising an eyebrow, I whilst rolling my eyes at him. Obviously not getting my sarcastic comment. Oh, Sherlock, how ignorant are you of the world exactly...

After a few minutes of silence in the taxi, we soon halt to a stop. I having to pay the cab driver and I grumbling all the way to the building. I not even speaking to Sherlock as we stand in the elevator on our way towards the crime scene. The man more concentrating on his phone more than me anyway…

Sighing – the elevator soon stops at the second floor, not our stop; though my eyes soon widening at the sight before me, as a very pretty woman steps in. The woman's hair being in long tawns of a dark, chocolate brown, and waving down to her shoulders, her skin a silky ivory colour while her face heart shaped and her lips full. Eyes like rich, blue sapphires that match her top beneath her smart black jacket that also matches; with her pencil skirt. Currently clutching a rather large bag at the side of her.

Ugh… Why can't I be that damn skinny? Being around Sherlock and this woman makes me feel like some fat spinster now…

"Pleasure to meet you," She smiles as she stands beside me, her accent being American and I whilst frowning as the elevator doors close. Has anyone ever been so polite and pleasant in an elevator before? …I guess not. Maybe she's just trying to rub in my face she's prettier than me, either way…

"A-and you…" I say, a little too shakily – my eyes flicking towards Sherlock for I only to raise an eyebrow, but more my mind ranting about my confusion than showing it on my face. What the hell is wrong with him? How can he just stand there with his eyes stuck to his mobile phone, whilst a-…

"Excuse me, can you hold this?" She asks – I not having time to reply before the time she shrugs her jacket off her and chucks it upon my face.

Oh, she is definitely messing with me…

"Oi!" I snap, quickly grasping the jacket hanging off my head and yanking it away, my eyes only to widen.

W-What…

Is she doing?

Stripping…

…in a… elevator?

What.

What?

I think I'm going insane…

Did I ever stop dreaming after that spinster on grave episode?... I hope so, though it turns out soon the woman's only changing… in here.

Like only changing in an elevator can make things better… could things get anymore crazier?... Yes. Yes, they definitely could; mostly at the fact she is chucking the rest of her clothes on me – including socks, her pencil skirt… I don't dare to look her way, or even look at the rest of what has been chucked onto me, but when I shift them all into my arms rather than the clothes resting on; my eyes avert to Sherlock… and see that he is still looking at his blackberry.

He is not a normal man… though I think I established that already. Still, this just makes him not very… I don't know. I'm just struggling to process what is going on right now.

"Thanks," She says, my eyes finally averting back to her. Is that… A police woman's get-up? My thoughts soon avert too when she gets the clothes in my arms off of me and quickly chucks them all in her bag. The elevator soon opening again , and her stepping out. "I appreciate it."

"And you are?" I ask, before the doors close. The woman pausing before walking off, turning swiftly on her heel and showing all of her all too damn perfect teeth…

"Irene Adler," She grins, before winking. Her eyes flicking over to Sherlock before the doors close, Sherlock's eyes only then looking upwards when they do so; I - all the while frowning at him.

"You're unbelievable…"

"What?"

* * *

Reviews are like books. They taste of cake.


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